I Belong to You
by Cogito Ergo Sum
Summary: Christian made a promise. He had to write down their story. It all seems to work out when suddenly an unpleasant fate hits the troubled boy. Will he survive his grief?
1. One

**I Belong to You.**

PART ONE

**A/N**: The _Moulin Rouge_ characters do not belong to me, yada yada yada. This is my vision of what could have happened one year after Christian came to the Moulin Rouge. This story will be "published" in two or three parts.

Please read and review! That really helps me to get inspired to write on. Thank you so much!

* * *

'The End'. 

The words appeared on the typewriter paper as if they had always been there. Christian stroked his beard as his eyes trailed off the paper. He glanced through the room. White and yellow papers hung up against the wall, each and every one of them contained a page full of words. Pages which contained their story. The story about love, a love that would live forever. And it would. He had kept his promise. He had been working for months and months to write down their story and now it was finally finished.

He removed the paper from the typewriter and pinned it on the wall, at the final left open spot. He stroked his dry throat and poured himself a glass of water. He let the fluid sink into his mouth as he stood in front of the window which looked out over the Moulin Rouge. It was quiet now. The autumn sun warmed the windmill which was turning endlessly. The sky contained some clouds but here and there Christian noticed some blue sky. He took a sip. That blue... It reminded him how blue her eyes were. They had always shone with laughter, as long as he had known her. So much love... Suddenly the door opened and Christian awoke from his memories. He placed the glass on the window-sill.

"Christian!" Someone with a hissing voice called his name with light enthusiasm. Christian turned around. "Yes, Toulouse?" The dwarf made wide gestures and took Christians hands in joy. "I may have found a publisher. He's very delighted about the story and" Christian turned away and walked to the other window where she had been standing nearly two years ago. He caressed the window-sill which she had probably touched then. He had wanted to stay as close to her as possible, while writing his story at least. That way he could still feel her and it felt as if she was looking over his shoulder to see what he wrote down. At times he could feel her breath in his neck and he felt sure about what he wrote. Sometimes he still smelled her perfume.

"Christian? What's the matter, aren't you happy?" Toulouse's smiled disappeared and he observed Christian in doubt. He too had noticed the changes that Christian had gone through. The lively boy who had been here in the beginning had made place for an adult man filled with worries. Christian was no longer the bohemian writer and poet he used to be. Christian stared in infinity. "I'm not sure" He turned around. His eyes were watery. "I'm not sure i-if I want to publish it." Toulouse frowned and walked near him. "But why not? It's a marvellous story, it could be your break through! Even better than _Spectacular, Spectacular_" Christian shook his head and he carefully took the final paper from his wall. He handed it to Toulouse. Toulouse let his eyes fall on the final words. "So you've finally finished it?" Christian nodded. Toulouse held silent as Christian walked to the window to collect his glass again. He pinned the paper back onto the wall. "It's just... I've finished it, like you said. It's over. Definitely. Now I'll... I'll have to say goodbye... I have to say farewell... To the Moulin Rouge and... Satine" Her name came across his lips as a vague whisper. He became sweaty and he had to restrain himself from crying. Toulouse felt shattered. He had to think about the story and the publisher, but at the same time he saw Christian as a friend, perhaps even a son. He placed his hand on Christian's back. "Christian... I know she had wanted it to be published. That way she'll live on, remember?" Christian shook off his hand. "Her final words" He shook his head. "I just... Don't know." He leaned on the window-sill and let his head hang. "Soon I will go back to England. What will happen with our story then? I won't be here to take care of it" Suddenly he began to cough. He reached his hand to his mouth in his coughing fit. Toulouse shook his head. After it had tempered, Christian took a bottle from his table and took a medicine. "That coughing of yours... It's taking long. I hope your cold will cool down a bit." Christian nodded and he took a sip from the water and put the empty glass on the table. "Me too. The doctor told me that it was probably a virus." Toulouse bit his lip. "And you have it for at least a couple of weeks already." Christian nodded. "Yes, but it's tempering. I'll be fit for England." Toulouse smiled. "Let's hope so. Anyway, think about the publisher and let me know. I did my best." Christian laughed as he opened the door to the dwarf. "Of course you did. You always do." Toulouse smiled and tipped his hat, off to disappear into the slums of Montmartre. Christian closed the door and looked at the papers, then shrugged and poured himself a whiskey.

The next morning he awoke with a smile on his face. He had dreamt of her again. He dreamt about her every night. Sometimes he would hold her and they would say nothing, at other times they were practising for _Spectacular, Spectacular_ and he saw bits of his memory, at other times she was crying. Calling out for his help. Those weren't the happy dreams. Then he would wake up crying and he couldn't fall back asleep. But this night had been special. She had caressed him and they had laughed. It wasn't anything from the past, but it had been what his mind had made it out to be.

He got out of bed and walked to the open window. He glanced outside and noticed that the few trees next to the building had begun to loose their leaves. Beautiful orange, brown and reddish colours. They reminded him of Satine. Those were her colours. He smiled and waved at the Moulin Rouge, for he could be happy some times. He hurried to wash himself clean and then he put on his regular writer outfit. He was happy today for he had decided on doing something which brought him joy. He collected every bit of paper from the wall and made sure that they kept in the right order. He coughed and placed them in a map. He wiped his mouth with a hanky and took his hat from the chair. He put on his coat and took his map with notes and then went downstairs. The housekeeper greeted him. "Be sure to tighten your coat!" she warned him with her deep voice. "You are suffering a cold already!" He smiled at her. She shook her head but couldn't refuse a smile. She hadn't seen him this delighted for a long time.

Christian walked all the way to a small area which took care of loved ones who had passed away. He set his hat straight as the fresh winter wind blew past his hair. He became quieter now. He moved slowly and respectfully. He stopped at a mere corner of the graveyard, where a stone was hidden under a large oak. Its leaves had covered the lying stone and Christian smiled. He brushed off the leaves to reveal the stone completely. "Satine" He whispered and he smiled gently. He touched the cold solid piece and closed his eyes for a moment. "Satine. I... I wrote our story. And" He smiled as he remembered the night they had first met. "I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do." He paused and took out his map. As he tried to get the first few papers out of the map, he felt a nasty coughing fit coming up. His whole body shook at the force of his coughing. He stopped after awhile and held his hanky against his mouth. He had to gain his breathe and that caused him to wheeze a little. He wiped his forehead with his clear hand and calmly went on with taking out the paper as he was a little more at ease again. With his other hand he folded the hanky while keeping his eyes on the paper and tugged it into his pocket. He sat down comfortably with all the papers in his hands and he smiled at the grave. "Sorry 'bout that. I, I'll read it to you, okay? You have to like it. Otherwise" He trailed off and then shook it away. "Anyway, shall I begin?" He took a nice amusing pose and started to make gestures around his story, the way he used to tell her about how _Spectacular, Spectacular_ was being written. It was as if she was lying on his bed again and laughing while he made his funny gestures and he read out all the lines.

He spent his whole day at her grave, until he was completely satisfied with their story. He let his tears flow down silently as he finished. "Did you like it?" he whispered. "I knew you'd like it" He let the paper fall on his lap as he leaned forward and started crying, all his pain freed to find its way.

He walked back to his hotel, lost in thought. Of course, every bit of memory from Satine and the past two years had all come back to him this day. He needed awhile to recover from it. Recover from joy, love, pain, sorrow. His nose was wet and he took out his hanky while he kept on walking and staring to depths beyond our view. He wiped his nose and suddenly he bumped into a woman. He dropped the hanky and quickly caught his map with his writings to prevent them from shattering. "That was close," he said and he straightened himself. "Watch where you're going boy," a rather familiar voice addressed him. He looked up from under his hat and looked in the face of Marie. "Marie!" He cried out friendly. "I'm so sorry; I didn't watch where I was going." She smiled. "That's okay, I'm sure you had a lot on your mind. How are you?" They had not spoken to each other for months. Once Satine had been buried, Marie too had to go on with her life in the Moulin Rouge. She had to take care of new girls now. They needed her care, her softness in a world of cruelty. Christian knew that Marie had loved Satine, although Marie had never revealed her feelings that way. "I'm okay," Christian answered and he showed her his map. "I wrote down our story." Marie gasped. "I envy you, Christian. How hard that must have been" Christian nodded. "It was hard but I had made a promise." He smiled. "But I will talk to you again sometime." He brought his hand to his mouth as he coughed. "Take care, Marie!" She nodded and smiled while she watched him walk away. She wanted to turn away and walk on when she discovered his hanky on the floor. She ducked to pick it up and peered in the way Christian went. "Chris-" She didn't finish calling out his name as her view was distracted. She froze as she noticed the stains on the hanky. They were fierce red. Her mouth sank open in horror as she looked the way Christian had gone. He had disappeared.

That night he dreamt he was with Satine. He saw himself dancing and laughing. It was all fun when suddenly it seemed as if his airway was being cut off. He gasped for breath and reached out as far as possible to obtain some oxygen. He wheezed and felt helpless. He couldn't get to the air he needed. Suddenly he woke up and sat up straight in his bed. He still had trouble breathing and he took a deep breath. Sweat was everywhere and slowly he recovered. He was trembling and shaking and he coughed a couple of times. He swept his mouth with the back of his hand. It was still dark outside but he decided to get out of bed. This had been a nightmare and he didn't feel like going back to bed. He moved his hands through his hair and sat down on a chair near the window. He managed to keep himself from coughing. He began to worry. It had seemed as if he had been near death. He was unsure if it had actually happened or that it had only been a dream. He sat on the chair and stared at the Elephant for awhile. His thoughts soon found their way into the Elephant and he could see the inside, feel the satin and he could smell Satine's perfumes. He managed to stay awake for an hour or two when finally his head sank to his hands and his eyes closed.

The following morning he woke up early as he had an appointment. He was shocked to find himself on his chair instead of his bed, but he soon remembered how he had gotten up there. He yawned and stretched himself, he groaned as his back hurt. Sleeping half a night on a chair didn't do one's back much good, as he now discovered. He moaned and got up; he managed to wash himself up a bit. He looked in the mirror and looked at his beard. He observed it for a few moments and then took out his shaving knife. As he started to shave his beard he kept staring into the mirror. It was time to remove the traces from the past. It was time to leave this past year behind. A new and smooth skin for a new and smooth start. He was just finishing the other cheek when he suddenly developed a coughing fit. He hadn't seen it coming and he let his knife slip. It carved a nice figure in his skin as it did. He cursed and let the knife fall in the washing table. Christian examined his 'wound' in the mirror and cursed some more as blood surfaced.

A few moments later he walked back into the bedroom to get his pocket watch from the night table. He searched the drawer for some bandage for the cut. He wanted to go out cleanly this day. It was important. He jumped at the sound of someone banging on his door. He opened it and smiled as Toulouse came in, obviously exited.

"Christian! Oh how great this day is." Christian smiled and ducked to pick up his shawl that had been left on the floor. "Yes it is, I'm very grateful Toulouse." Toulouse spun around and then stopped to lean on his stick. "Yes, I hope the publisher will grant us his blessings." Christian went silent and then tried to speak but Toulouse interrupted him. "Ah!" He pointed at Christian's naked cheek. "Ah, you shaved off your beard! That does please me, it does." Christian laughed and got his coat. "Please you? How come?" Toulouse sat down on the bed as Christian moved to another corner of the room to collect something. "Well... It shows that you're moving on." His face went serious. "And well, that's a good thing to do. A wise thing" He added. Christian held still and then turned around to face the little man. "Well... What else is there to do?" And with that, he closed the subject. Toulouse glanced around the room feeling a bit awkwardly. He loosened his tie a bit when his eyes fell on Christian's pillow. He frowned and looked at it a little closer. "Christian?" He asked with his glance still fixated on the tiny red stains that were visible, "Have you suffered a nose bleed?" Christian who had just taken his hat from the table turned around laughing. "A nose bleed? No, why?" He walked to where Toulouse was at and followed the man's view. He noticed the stains. His eyes flicked to Toulouse and he smiled uneasily. "Oh- Oh that. It probably landed up there when I was bending over this morning." He pointed at his shaving mark. "See?" He walked past the door and while on the hallway he called back to Toulouse. "Now let's go!" His voice trailed off as he disappeared downstairs. Toulouse's frown became deeper as he heard Christian going down. He wished he could believe him, believe his boy. He wished that it had been from Christian's shave, but it hadn't. He couldn't believe Christian, no matter how much he had wanted to for this blood that had stained his sons pillow had not been from that very morning. It was already dried up. It had to be at least a couple of hours old. This concerned Toulouse. He stood up and walked into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He decided not to show his concern. This was an important and joyful day and he would not allow his silly concerns to spoil it. This day was a day which meant great fortune for Christian, and Toulouse wanted his son to get every bit of good fortune that he could.

The door to Christian's room opened and a cheerful writer walked in. He laughed as he threw his coat on a chair and he fell on his bed. It had been a good day. The publisher had been exited and he had approved. Christian held the key to what could be his big break through. To publish a story in Paris... His dream was coming true. Toulouse and he had even shared a fancy diner with the publisher and they had feasted on what was to come. He had even joked and all had been happy. His smile faded as he stared at the cracked ceiling. Suddenly he thought of Satine. He saw her. She seemed sad. She was lying there and she looked at him; then turned away, her eyes closed. Christian looked away and he sank back again, right into his worries. The day after tomorrow, on the first working day of the week, he would hand over his writings to the publisher and the first prototype would be ready by the end of the week. This meant business for him, but it also meant the end of the Moulin Rouge. The end for _him_ and the Moulin Rouge. Once his book was brought out, he would leave for England. He would leave _her_. His heart became ice once this thought fully entered his mind. He dared not to breathe for a moment. Suddenly his face became a bit paler. Then his blush returned and he smiled. A warming smile, filled with love. He wouldn't leave her. He would take her with him. Not in a physical form, but she would always be with him. She would travel with him in his heart and filling his mind with hers. His writings contained everything and they would last forever, making Satine and him last forever. That comforted him. He smiled once again and reached for the light; he coughed as he turned it off. It had been a long day.


	2. Two

**I Belong to You**

PART TWO

**A/N:** Thank you for your reviews. It has been a long time since I first published this story and although I did write 50 of this chapter in that time already, I never found the inspiration nor guts to finish it. But here it is. I hope you will still like it. Thank you so much for reading!

* * *

Soon it became Monday, which would become a rather slow day. It was rainy outside and Christian bit his lip while he put _their story_ in his bag. He didn't feel so good. He was sweaty and warm and last night the coughing had given him much trouble and he couldn't get asleep. He looked into the mirror and decided to pour some water over his head. As the water was dropping from his face he stared at himself. He frowned. He looked so pale… No wonder that everybody was worried about him.

Moments later he was outside. He followed his way to a building a few blocks away and knocked on a door.

As fast as his tiny feet would carry him, Toulouse followed Christian. They were going to the publisher. The man had already let his eyes slide past a few of Christian's words but now Christian was going to hand over the complete story, and the publisher would get to work. Christian was finally delighted to see _their story_ published and being worked on, ever since he had told himself that in this way, Satine would always be with him.

The publisher greeted them with much enthusiasm and was more than eager to take the writings from Christian. They agreed on some financial arrangements and soon Toulouse and Christian found themselves outside again, in the pouring rain.

"Well Christian, that has been one good offer."

They slowly walked back into the district of Montmartre.

"Yes. I think I have done the right thing."

"I'm certain you have. Satine would have wanted it."

Christian smiled a little uneasy at the dwarf. He didn't have many doubts anymore, but still it had been a difficult task. Christian only hoped that Satine would approve.

Early next morning Christian awoke because of some loud bangs on his door. He sat on the edge of his bed and covered his face with his hands to wake himself up, when another bang vibrated through the room.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming…"

He yawned. More banging.

"I'm coming!"

He shoved the door chain halfway and looked straight into the face of the man he had been working with for awhile. A corrupt but at the same time a sly man. The owner of the Moulin Rouge.

"Monsieur Zidler?"

Christian removed the chain completely and let Harold Zidler enter his room. Christian was confused to see him there. Zidler had never come to his room before, not even when Satine was still alive. Nor had Zidler ever shown much affection towards him. It confused Christian. Best to remain polite.

"Monsieur Zidler, how have you been?"

Zidler didn't answer him but instead dropped a newspaper on his table. Christian frowned as he picked it up and read the front page.

'_A Moulin Rouge story._

_What good could that bring we ask. A story about a prostitute from the Moulin Rouge who had an affair with a penniless writer. She contracted TBC and died from it. "Yes, it's an intriguing story about the Moulin Rouge itself with its schemes and its whores," says publisher François Grazère, who only just received the immense story from a writer who witnessed it all. An amazing story about life in the Moulin Rouge, and all the fuss surrounding it. We asked Grazère if...' _

Christian put the paper down and looked at Zidler, who didn't seem to be the least bit amused. Christian cleared his throat. He had to admit that this was a rather negative article.

"So," Harold Zidler finally spoke.

"You have decided on publishing your story?"

Christian nodded.

"_Our Story_, in fact."

Zidler seemed to have aged rather rapidly. Christian had not seen him since the funeral of Satine and the older man had most definitely become greyer and he seemed to have more wrinkles than before. He waved Christian's words away.

"I am a little worried about this Christian. This story. Why did you not inform me that you were going to publish it?"

Christian frowned and shook his head.

"Inform you? I promised Satine I would write our story. You knew I'd publish it one day. Or try, at least."

Zidler pointed a finger at him and turned red. He opened his mouth but then changed his mind and started pacing up and down. Suddenly he stopped and poured himself a whiskey from the bottle that was left opened. He let all the alcohol slip right down in one sip and with a loud bang he placed the glass back on the window-sill.

"You do realise that this could mean serious harm to the Moulin Rouge, don't you?"

He now developed a flaming red colour on his cheeks.

"We had to close _Spectacular, Spectacular_ almost immediately after it opened because we couldn't find the right replacement for Satine and we lost a great deal of money on that. Loosing our most precious courtesan…"

He swallowed the rest of his sentence and turned around, hanging across the window-sill, unable for Christian to see his grief. Christian looked down. He knew that the Moulin Rouge had suffered terribly ever since the death of Satine. It had seemed as if the whole of the Moulin Rouge had been dependent on her. And for a part they had been, since she had been _The Sparkling Diamond_. Men had come from across the country to catch a glimpse of Satine, who had probably been the most famous and most beautiful courtesan of all. Christian was unsure of what to say for he did feel guilty. But it had been Satine who he had made a promise to and that promise would not be broken.

"This is for Satine! Harold, you know that she made me promise her. I cannot break that promise. Not to her. Harold, you cared for her, you _loved_ her. Just like I did."

Christian's voice broke. Finally, Harold Zidler turned around, his face wet from his emotions. He placed his hand on Christian's shoulder and he smiled.

"I know… I know, I'm sorry."

There was a certain look on his face that Christian had never seen before. Slowly, Zidler moved away from Christian and send one last nod towards him before he left. Christian sighed as he fell back on his bed. He coughed and wept. He wept for Satine.

* * *

A week went by.

Christian looked at himself in the mirror carefully. He checked his eyes, his mouth and he tried to look into the depths of his throat. It was raw, his eyes were red and his mouth was dry. He hadn't been sleeping well for three days in a row now. The coughing had increased and he had trouble breathing. He could hear a wheeze with each deep breath he took. He knew he was suffering from something. It had to be stress. Today the publisher would have the prototype ready. _Their story_ would be ready. Christian and Toulouse were going to visit the publisher and Christian would take the prototype with him and read it through before it would be published. The publisher had given him all the time he needed, but Christian was sure he would finish it in one night. And when he'd approve, it was only a matter of hours before he would pay off his rent, buy himself a train ticket and leave for the French coast to catch a boat back to England. He wondered how his old man was doing. Christian was pleased that his father had not been right about love. Even though Satine was dead, Christian had learned to love and would always love. It hadn't been a ridiculous obsession. It still wasn't.

Christian dressed himself and left to pick up Toulouse.

* * *

"Isn't this exiting?"

Toulouse seemed to hiss more when he was enthusiastic about something.

"It is," Christian smiled. The foresight of getting to see the story in its almost-ready-to-publish form brought a smile to his pale face. It would only be a matter of minutes now. They were walking in the Rue de la Fontaine, three streets away from the publisher. Finally, they reached their goal. They entered the relatively large building and were guided to an office. There they were greeted by the man who they had been dealing with.

"Messieurs…"

"Ah, Monsieur Grazère," Toulouse made a small bow.

Christian thought that Toulouse's smile couldn't get any bigger.

"Here is the story. Lovely work, Christian, lovely. I have no doubts that this will become one of my, ehehe, _our_, bestsellers."

"I don't care if it'll become a bestseller or not," Christian answered. "As long as it gets published."

Monsieur Grazère exchanged a look with Toulouse. Then he recovered himself.

"It shall be published Monsieur! And how! I advise you to take a look and let us know what you think."

And there it was. The first paper back edition of _'Come What May:' a love story_. Christian found himself in a dark space, with a single light shining down upon the book. He reached out slowly and touched the book carefully, caressing its edges. He picked it up and studied it closely without opening it.

"It does look wonderful, doesn't it, Christian?"

Toulouse's voice brought Christian back to his senses. He opened his mouth and scratched his dry throat.

"It does," he croaked.

"Splendid!" Toulouse exclaimed, and he clapped his hands.

The following events seemed to go past Christian without him even noticing it. He shook hands with the publisher and Toulouse, the latter kissed him on his forehead even, left the building and went on his way back home. It wasn't until Toulouse had dropped him off at the hotel and closed the door behind him that Christian regained his senses. Tears welled up in his eyes as he stroked the book's cover. He frowned and looked through the window where he could see the red windmill turning slowly. She should have been there next to him, reading it with him. She should have been there… It was so unfair… So unfair… Without even having read a single letter he fell asleep on his bed, exhausted by all the emotions that had been running through his body, felled by his long term illness.

Christian spent the next day reading the story. The editors had left some bits out but it was still a readable story and more importantly, it was still truthful. He finished the book at half past one A.M. and could hardly wait to bring it back to the publisher to give it the "go ahead."

Three weeks later there was a first print of 300 copies, selling vast. The week thereafter 500 copies were printed, and then 1000, going upwards. Whilst Christian had helped Toulouse with the sales and publicity, he now felt that his job was done. The book sold itself and after having gone through hundreds of signing events, he felt that Toulouse could pull it off by himself. That one night, three months into the sales, he knocked on Toulouse's door.

"Christian! Come in, come in."

The Bohemian house was small and crowded with Toulouse's little collectibles. The dwarf managed to pull a chair out of somewhere and offered it to the writer as he moved to a nearby table where he poured some green liquor.

"You want some?"

"No thank you," Christian answered. Toulouse shrugged and took a sip of his much loved green beverage.

"Toulouse… I have packed my bags. I will be getting on the train to Calais tomorrow."

Toulouse blinked as he slowly placed his glass on the small table. He bit his lip as he observed the young man in front of him.

"Leaving… So soon? Well it had to happen one day…"

They both sat silently, staring at each other. Then, after a few minutes, they both rose to their feet and they embraced. Toulouse wiped a tear from his eye.

"Take care my boy, take care."

And with that, Christian took off. Back in his hotel room he dropped himself on the bed. He had gathered his most treasured belongings around him. The first lyrics to Come What May, one of Satine's hair pins, a tissue which carried her perfume… He inhaled the sweet smile and lay back. Tomorrow would be the end of his time at the Moulin Rouge. He would always have his memories. He would never let those fade away. He sobbed silently as he pressed the tissue against his cheek. How he longed for her. His sobs turned into coughs. They became more violently with every second. He rose from his bed and quickly poured himself a glass of water and took one of his pills. It helped to get the pressure off his chest, but he couldn't help feeling so hot. He slowly went back to bed and fell asleep with Satine's perfume lingering in his nose.

He got up early and knocked on the door of the housekeeper.

"You going?"

Christian nodded. The woman looked at him with a deep frown on her face.

"Take care… You do not look well."

_I know I don't look well_, Christian thought as he closed the door of the hotel one last time. He walked towards the still image of the Moulin Rouge._ I have been miserable for the past few months._ He looked up at the Elephant and felt weak in his knees. _I have been…_He continued to look at the Moulin Rouge and then slowly turned around and walked away. _Goodbye._ He walked along the river Seine for a short detour. _I hope it will pass when I get back in England._ He fastened the upper buttons of his coat as he entered the graveyard. There she was. Her final resting place. He slowly kneeled down besides her tombstone. He stroked the cold stone. He could hear the early birds singing their songs. It must have been the first time since he'd come here that the birds sang. He smiled as he pulled out a special gift from under his coat. It was a piece of paper surrounded by glass, making it invulnerable to rain. He placed it at the top of her stone. The paper read:

'_Come what may, I will love you until my dying day _

_and beyond.'_

He did not have to speak the words he had in mind for he knew that his thoughts would reach her. His fingers slowly followed the carvings of her name for the last time, then he got up and walked away, knowing that she would always be there with him.

It was busy on the Gare du Nord. Businessmen, young families, children… Christian preferred to go by unnoticed. To his irritation, he had to wait three quarters of an hour before his train would depart. Now that he had decided to leave Paris, he wanted to get out as soon as possible.

Finally the train arrived and Christian was about to board the train when he heard a familiar, _demanding_, voice.

"Hurry up! That suitcase goes there. Careful! Watch out!"

The Duke.

Christian turned around slowly, his rationalism slowly fading away. The Duke was busy instructing some of the staff, his temper growing more unsteady with every minute. Christian moved towards him slowly. It wasn't until he was five metres away from him that the Duke recognised him.

"You?"

He exclaimed as he observed Christian from head till toe. Without warning, Christian hit the poor man in his face,_ hard_. People surrounding them backed away, a woman screamed, drawing the attention of the security. The Duke let out a little yelp.

"What the Hell are you doing!"

"You, you couldn't keep your hands off her, could you! You _had_ to have her, no matter what!" Christian made another move towards the Duke, who screamed for help. Security was on its way now. "YOU HURT HER!" Christian started to yell, tears streaming down his face. All the anger and bitterness that he had been feeling for the past few years came streaming down. "YOU FORCED HER TO TELL ME THAT SHE DIDN'T LOVE ME!" He took a deep breath as he felt an enormous cough attack coming up. "You! You KILLED her!" The Duke jumped backwards as Christian fell on his hands and knees, coughing heavily. Blood spat on the floor. The security people who had now reached the scene, quickly turned into medicine people. Christian couldn't stop himself from coughing. It felt as if he threw up his lungs. He looked up at all the people surrounding him. They seemed hazy… He felt light headed. He just wanted to sleep. Finally rest… He closed his eyes and could only hear some vague voices from the past. Then everything went black. And then… After a few seconds… A voice… From the darkness.

"Christian… Christian…"

It sounded so beautiful in his ears. A figure dressed in red came floating towards him, her arms reaching out to him. She was calling his name. Christian smiled as he took her hands.

"Satine."

* * *

_The greatest thing you'll ever learn… Is just to love… And be loved in return…_

* * *

**THE END**


End file.
